No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
by DJTCluva
Summary: House agrees to do a favor for Cuddy and ends up paying the price.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own very few things. House MD is not one of them. Please don't sue me.**

**Summary: House agrees to do a favor for Cuddy and pays the price.**

**No Good Deed Goes Unpunished**

**Chapter One**

"House? Need you." Cuddy said, poking her head into Clinic Room 2.

"Little busy." He replied, voice distorted by the sucker in his mouth. On the exam table sat a middle-aged woman, fidgeting anxiously with the edge of her sweater. "These cough drops aren't going to prescribe themselves."

"Dr. House? It's urgent." She said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile at the patient.

"Your tax dollars at work." He said to the patient, swirling the sucker around his mouth. Grabbing his cane, he followed Cuddy's glare to the door.

"I need you to pick up Rachel from kindergarten." She said the moment the door had shut behind him.

"Yeah." He said, disbelieving. "That sounds like something I'd do."

"It's an emergency."

"There's a medical emergency at your spawn's finger-painting factory? Something that only a board-certified diagnostician with a double specialty in infectious disease and nephrology can handle?"

"Did I say that?" She said wearily. "I have an emergency board meeting."

"Where's your ridiculously expensive snot-wiper?"

"_Mary_ has a family emergency. She's out of town for the next week."

"Likely excuse." He scoffed. "What about Wilson?"

"The board meeting."

"Cameron?"

"Doing her job. Do you really think I would be asking you if I hadn't exhausted all of my other resources?"

"I'm doing my job. You used to care about that, remember? Your face would get all red and splotchy—"

"House."

"I mean, earlier today you—"

"House! I'll give you a week off of clinic duty."

"No way! The clinic is the only way for me to give back to my community. I take it very seriously."

"Two weeks. And you can go home the moment you give her back to me. Take the rest of the day off." She said, a look of pure desperation on her face.

House paused, biting down on the sucker and shattering it into little pieces in his mouth.

"You're pathetic." He said, the scent of cherries drifting from his mouth and into her nostrils. "Fine. I'll do it. But only because there's a General Hospital marathon this afternoon, and my TV at home is bigger."

Cuddy sighed in relief, and handed him her keys.

"Woah, woah. I am NOT driving your mom-mobile. I have a reputation, you know."

"Her booster seat, you idiot." She said. "Put it in your car."

House rolled his eyes and pocketed the keys.

"Oh, and House? Bring her back in one piece. Or I'll beat you to death with your own cane."

OOOO

Twenty minutes later he was parked outside of Rachel's school, leaning against the side of his car. Ipod blaring, he popped a Vicodin, ignoring the accusing looks of the waiting parents. The door to the school opened, and a line of small children filtered out and into the arms of their waiting chauffeurs.

Towards the end of the line he could see Cuddy's spawn, standing on the top step and looking anxiously around her. Her teacher had a hand on her shoulder, both of them looking for the kid's nanny. Yanking out his earphones, he raised his cane in the air and got Rachel's attention.

"Kid!" He shouted. "Hurry up and get in or I'm leaving without you."

Rachel grinned and hopped down the stairs, followed closely by her teacher.

"Why are you here?" The little girl asked happily upon reaching the car.

"I'm asking myself the same thing." He said, opening the door. "Get in."

"Dr. House." Rachel's teacher said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What happened to Mary?"

"Have you met this kid?" He asked, nodding his head towards the car. "She's enough to scare anyone away."

"Where's Dr. Cuddy?"

"Emergency doctor thing." He said, limping towards the driver's side door. "Or she got scared away too. Either one."

The teacher frowned, and House shuddered. The woman obviously held a grudge. A couple of months ago the kid had been sent home after calling a little boy a 'moronic bastard'. Furious, Cuddy had forced him to accompany her to the following meeting with her teacher. Her plan had been to make House take responsibility for his actions and see the error of his ways. It didn't exactly go as planned.

"Drive safely." The teacher said, frowning. "If she doesn't show up at school tomorrow I'm calling the police."

House rolled his eyes and tossed his cane into the car.

"Well, hopefully we'll be across the Mexican border by then." He said, sinking into the seat and slamming the door behind him. Ignoring the teacher's angry glare, he reached into the backseat and yanked on the kid's booster seat strap, making sure she was properly buckled in. Trying desperately to ignore the kid's incessant talking, he started up the car and took off.

OOOO

Three minutes later he could feel a headache forming, and the kid hadn't even paused for breath since she got in the car. Sighing, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sucker, tossing it in her general direction.

"Is this for me?" The little girl asked happily.

"No, it's for the other kid in the backseat."

She scowled, but hesitantly tore the wrapper off of the red sucker.

"You know, Mommy got mad the last time you gave me sweets."

"Yeah, well, Mommy's not here, is she? Eat your sucker."

She popped it into her mouth, and House sighed in relief. Finally, silence.

OOOO

Three minutes later, the silence was broken once again.

"Uncle House? Look."

House frowned, steadfastly ignoring her.

"Look. Look, Uncle House. Look at me."

Rolling his eyes, he glanced into the rearview mirror at the kid. She was looking forward, her little eyes squeezed shut and tongue sticking straight out. It was stained red from the sucker.

"Is my tongue red, Uncle House?"

House smiled slightly in spite of himself.

"Your tongue's always red."

OOOO

Two minutes later the kid had dropped her sucker, and House was doing his best to stop her whining. He thought briefly about just turning up the radio to drown her out. But before he could make a move, he was startled by a car heading straight towards his own. With only seconds to make a decision, he jerked the car to the right. Moments later, everything went black.

**Reviews are lovely!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Like so many other days, his first thought upon waking was pain. Everything hurt—his head was pounding, in a way that it hadn't since the aftermath of the bus crash. His thigh, instead of its normal dull throb, was pulsing with fiery pain. But worst of all was his chest—he felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed, and each shallow breath he took was a shock to his system.

He felt like he was dying. He kind of wished that he would already.

He squeezed his eyes closed, one shaky hand moving up to massage his forehead. Wetness coated his fingers. Suddenly he heard a small sob, and his eyes shot open painfully.

Shit. The kid.

Without thinking, he tried to twist in his seat to check on her, and was immediately punished for the attempt. His chest erupted in pain, effectively taking his breath away. For an undetermined amount of time (seconds? minutes?) he couldn't move or think. The only sensation present was excruciating pain, pulsing throughout his battered body.

When of a couple of his senses finally returned, he could hear her sobbing and his panting echoing within the car. Blurry eyes glanced down at his chest, mildly shocked at the way the car door could mold against the side of his chest. Shiny red blood dripped across a piece of twisted metal.

Groaning, he tried desperately to take control of his mind. The kid was in the backseat. He needed to make sure she was okay, but moving was definitely out of the picture.

"R-Rachel?" He gasped—head, chest, and leg throbbing in sync.

The only sound that he got in return was another small sob, and some pathetic sniffling.

"Rachel." He said more forcefully, squeezing his eyes shut. "Are…are you hurt?"

As he waited for any reply, he found himself praying to a god he didn't believe in. Praying that the kid was okay. Praying that he hadn't screwed up so royally as to damage the kid. He didn't really care whether or not he lived or died, but if the kid died he knew it would be the end.

"Uncle…House?" Sniffle sniffle, sob.

"Are you hurt?" He desperately tried to think logically, to remember the way the other car had hit them. It was obvious his door had taken the brunt of the hit. Rachel was on the other side, in the back. He vaguely remembered trying to angle the car so that the kid might be spared, but the accident was a blur. A shock ran through his head and he groaned.

"My…my neck hurts." She sobbed, her voice sounding small amidst all of the confusion.

Shit. Shit shit. He tried to suck up a deep breath, but his chest felt like it was on fire. He coughed dryly, trying desperately to ward off the dizziness that threatened to overtake him.

"Don't move." He croaked. Rachel sobbed louder, breath shaky. "Hear me? Don't…move."

"I'm scared."

He gritted his teeth, and reached one hand shakily to the rearview mirror. He adjusted the mirror until he could see the kid. Upon first glance, she looked okay. No blood that he could see—but that didn't necessarily mean anything if she had a neck injury. Her little face was red and splotchy, covered with shiny tears, a few strands of blonde hair clinging to the wet surface. She was still safely in her booster seat, and the window next to her was still in tact.

"I see you." He said, attempting confidence. "Look up."

Wet brown eyes looked up to the mirror, and he faked a shaky smile. She frowned, still sobbing.

"You're bleeding." She whimpered.

Silently cursing the head wound, he tried in vain to brush the blood off his forehead.

"I'm fine." He said, wiping the blood on one pant leg. "It's just like…when you crashed your bike."

It happened a year ago. While riding her bike (complete with training wheels) down a little hill, she had hit a patch of gravel and lost control. Her helmet hadn't quite been adjusted properly, and had slid back on her tiny head, leaving her forehead exposed to the rough pavement. She wailed, the head wound bleeding like no other. Cuddy, more hysterical then her daughter, immediately tried in vain to calm her screeching little girl. In some strange twist of fate he had found himself at Cuddy's during the accident, trying to convince her that his patient needed risky brain surgery to survive. Trying in vain to ignore all of the screeching, he abandoned his cane and swept Rachel into his arms, hobbling to his car. Two MRIs and an overnight stay in the hospital later, Cuddy had finally let her come home with fours stitches and a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on her forehead.

"You…you need a Band-Aid?" She asked, sniffling.

"Yeah." He said, watching the rise and fall of her chest slow to a more desirable level. "Maybe Cameron will give me…a Hello Kitty one too."

She smiled tearfully. He gasped, the pain from his chest radiating to his back. Even half-crazy with pain, he knew he was in bad shape. He couldn't tell where the car ended and he began. He knew at least a couple of ribs were broken, and he probably had a collapsed lung. He could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat, and he gasped quietly. Help better get here soon, he thought, sending out another silent prayer. The kid needed help, and he didn't know how long he would last.

OOOO

His head was swimming. The kid's little whimpers were mixed with the sound of voices…how many voices he couldn't tell. He forced his heavy eyes open, searching for the source of the voices. A man's face was hovering outside of what used to be his window.

"Hey Buddy." The face said. "Help is on the way."

"Don't…move…the kid." He gasped. "Neck…injury."

The face frowned, blurred for a moment, and then came back into focus.

"They're here. Help is here."

OOOO

"Uncle House!" His eyes shot open at the sound, and he immediately groaned as the pain hit him full force once more. There were so many voices, and he could hear what sounded like some sort of chainsaw. Shouting. Sirens. The kid.

"R-Rachel?" He gasped.

"I can't go with strangers!" She yelled, sobbing again. He glanced wearily in the mirror, confirming that they had at least stabilized her neck. A paramedic and a firefighter were trying in vain to get the little girl out of the car without injuring her further. Her little fingers were gripping the booster seat with surprising strength, pleading brown eyes meeting his own.

"I say you can." He assured her, trying to raise his voice over the sound of the machines. His door shifting slightly sent a sharp pain shooting through his chest and back, and he cried out softly despite himself. "They know…your mom."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. Take her to Princeton…Plainsboro." He croaked, darkness creeping in on his vision. He gasped for air desperately. Then everything went black.

**Reviews make the world go round.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Cameron met the gurney as it burst into the ER, anxious to assess the status of the injured child that had been called in. She could hear the little girl sobbing immediately, and it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"What do we have?" She asked, glancing at the paramedic.

"Six-year-old female, backseat passenger in a two-car MVA. Possible head and neck injury, but she was still strapped in when we found her."

"Aunt C-Cameron?"

Cameron looked down at the little girl and froze.

"Rachel?"

Upon seeing a familiar face, Rachel sobbed harder, tears streaming down her red cheeks and falling in large plops onto the backboard beneath her. Cameron quickly recovered herself, gripping the little girl's small hand in her larger one and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're okay, Rachel. You're fine." Turning to the doctors and nurses surrounding her, she quickly slipped back into professional mode. "I need a CT and an MRI. And page Dr. Foreman."

"Mommy…" Rachel whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut in fear.

"Rachel, sweetie, was your mommy with you in the car?"

"No, it was a man, in his forties I think." Said the paramedic.

Cameron's heart sank.

"Where is he?"

"Still in the car." The paramedic replied as they lifted Rachel's backboard onto an ER bed. "It didn't look good."

OOOO

"Dr. House. Dr. House!" A voice shouted from far away, increasingly insistent. House groaned, sliding further into darkness. Suddenly he felt a dull sting across his cheek. Hazily, he opened his heavy eyelids. His body was one big throbbing nightmare, and his limbs felt dull and heavy. But he could breathe…sort of, at least. He tried to move his head towards the voice but was unsuccessful. He moved one heavy hand to his neck, and was met with cool plastic.

Oh. Cervical collar. Right.

"Dr. House, try to stay with us. They've almost got you out." The mysterious voice said.

"W-what?" He croaked, blinking slowly. His hand moved down to his chest, but someone quickly grabbed his fingers gently.

"You have a collapsed lung. We had to relieve the pressure. Try not to touch anything."

The car shifted again, and he screamed in pain. He vaguely felt someone's hand on his forehead soothingly. When he finally regained his senses, he remembered…

The kid.

"The…k-kid…" He whispered, his voice laced with pain. "W-where?"

"She was transported already. To Princeton Plainsboro, like you told us to. Pretty soon you'll be there too."

"H-hurt?"

"She seemed okay. A little scared, but okay."

Okay. The kid was okay. Relief flooded over him, and he allowed himself to succumb to the pain and slip back into unconsciousness.

OOOO

Cuddy walked into her office and sighed, closing the door behind her. The board meeting had just let out, and she was exhausted. She kicked off her heels and sunk into her desk chair. No sign of Rachel or House. They must be up in his office.

Or he'd taken her to go get ice cream, which she had specifically told him to avoid. The last time he had left the two of them alone before dinner he had stolen Wilson's wallet and bought her the biggest milkshake he could find. As soon as dinner was ready Rachel was a mess—throwing up and crying, clinging to her mother like a lifeline.

She shuddered. What made her think that leaving her with House unsupervised could possibly be a good idea? She logged on to her computer to check her e-mail, while at the same time reaching for the phone. She dialed the numbers by memory.

"Taub speaking."

"Hello Dr. Taub. Is House back with my daughter yet?"

"Oh, hi Dr. Cuddy. Not that I know of, no."

"Does anyone else up there know?"

"Kutner and Thirteen are gone for the day, and Foreman just got paged to the ER. I was just about to leave myself."

"Okay, thanks Dr. Taub. Have a good evening."

"You're welcome, you too."

She hung up and sank her head into her hands. All she wanted was to collect her daughter, grab some take-out, and get them both home. She longed for a pair of sweatpants and a cup of tea, and her daughter's little blonde head on her lap while they watched a movie. Where could House possibly have taken her this time? Why was it not possible for him to simply do what he was told?

Sighing, she picked up the phone again and dialed the familiar cell phone number. After five rings it went to the answering machine, and she could feel her blood boiling.

"House. I swear. If you're feeding my daughter massive amounts of sugar or introducing her to the merits of Pay-Per-View wrestling, I will kill you. Bring her back right now."

She hung up and slipped her heels back on. Suddenly her office door swung open, and Nurse Brenda stood in the doorway, eyes wide and worried.

"What is it?" She asked, heart pounding furiously.

"Rachel's in the ER, she—"

Cuddy didn't even listen to her finish the sentence. In seconds she had sprung from her chair and pushed pass Nurse Brenda, heels clacking frantically as she sprinted down the hall.

OOOO

"What do you got?" Foreman asked, spotting Cameron a few feet away. She looked over at him, eyes wide and sad. He frowned. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Rachel Cuddy was in a car accident." She said, brushing a stray hair out of her face.

His frowned deepened, but he didn't move. He knew that if it were really serious Cameron would be with her and not standing outside waiting for him. She shifted slightly, and glanced anxiously around the ER.

"There's something else." He stated simply, following Cameron's quickly shifting gaze. Suddenly his heart sank, and his eyes widened in shock. Shit. "Where's House? House was picking up Rachel."

"He's not here yet." Cameron replied softly, taking great care to not make eye contact with him. There was something more, he knew. Cameron was too easy to read.

"Cameron."

"The paramedic said it didn't look good."

Foreman's breath caught in his throat for a split second, before he quickly pulled himself together, eliminating all traces of concern from his face. He had learned more than just diagnostics from House.

"Yeah, well, what do the paramedics know." He said. "If they wanted to be doctors, maybe they should have buckled down a little more in high school."

She finally made eye contact with him—the worry in her eyes briefly replaced by a flash of mild disgust.

"I'll go check on Rachel. You wait for House."

She nodded, moving towards the ambulance bay.

"Oh, and Cameron." She spun to face him, narrowly missing a collision with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. "You should probably page Wilson."

OOOO

Cuddy burst into the ER, heart pounding frantically in her chest. She had abandoned her heels halfway down the hall, choosing instead to run faster in her tights-clad feet. When she reached the ER she searched desperately for her daughter.

"Dr. Cuddy." Cameron called from across the ER. "Exam 3."

Without wasting a second, Cuddy spun and ran towards Exam three, feet thumping against the cold floor. She flung open the curtain, and stepped quickly to her daughter's bedside.

She looked so small on the big bed. Her neck was immobilized, blonde hair spread around her head like a halo. Her big brown eyes were shiny with tears, as she followed Foreman's penlight.

"Rachel." She said, grasping her daughter's little hand. "I'm here, Rachel."

"Mommy." She sobbed, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

Cuddy ran a hand gently across Rachel's forehead, using her thumb to wipe away a few stray tears.

"You're fine, baby. You're okay. I'm here." Anxiously, she looked up at Foreman, searching his face for confirmation.

"She seems okay." He said, nodding. "Neuro check is good. We're about to take her for a CT and MRI to confirm."

"Any other injuries?"

"Not that we can tell."

Cuddy sighed in relief, and kissed her daughter's forehead lovingly. Suddenly her heart sank. House. She knew if he had a choice, he would be here with Rachel. Which means he didn't have a choice. Which means…

"Where's House?" She asked, looking around anxiously. "Did they bring him in too?"

"He's not here yet." Foreman said, frowning. "Cameron's waiting for him."

"Dr. Foreman? CT's ready."

Foreman nodded his thanks to the nurse, and turned back to Cuddy. Her eyes were big and wide with fear.

"Stay with Rachel." He said, resting one hand on her shaking shoulder. "Cameron will take care of House. And she's paging Wilson."

Cuddy ran a hand through her hair, and glanced back down at her daughter worriedly.

"Let me know the moment he gets here." She said softly. "I need to be updated."

"Of course." He said. "Now let's get Rachel her CT."

**Reviews are the best thing since sliced bread.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Wilson received his page, he was in the process of reviewing a patient's file, determining whether or not she was eligible for a new drug trial. It was tedious work, but at least there was a touch of optimism involved. The drug showed promise—if she qualified, it could add another year to her life.

Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pager. ER. Frowning, he picked up his phone and dialed the number.

"Emergency room."

"This is Dr. Wilson, from Oncology. I was paged?"

"Yes, Dr. Wilson. Dr. Cameron needs you in the ER as soon as possible."

His heart sank.

"Did she say why?"

"No. She just said she needs you ASAP."

"Okay. Thanks."

He slowly hung up the phone, searching desperately for any reason why Cameron would urgently need him in the ER. It could be one of his patients—it wasn't unheard of for some of his sicker patients to end up in the ER. But deep down he doubted this idea. He ran a hand through his hair, and slipped his white coat on. In minutes, he was down in the ER, searching for a familiar blonde head.

He found her standing anxiously by the ambulance bay, shifting from one foot to the other, arms crossed tensely.

"Cameron? What's up?" He asked, concerned by her obvious anxiety. Years of working in the ER (not to mention years of working with House) had strengthened the woman—her demeanor was usually cool, calm, and unflappable, even under the most stressful circumstances.

She looked up at him, lips trembling with worry.

"House and Rachel were in an accident."

"What? Are they okay?" He could feel his heart speeding up, and he tried in vain to remain calm. House, Rachel, and Cuddy were his family—he was thrice divorced and childless. He loved them like they were his own flesh and blood. And the thought of any of them hurt left him feeling sick to his stomach.

"They brought Rachel in 20 minutes ago. Cuddy's with her, they're doing a CT and MRI. But she seems okay."

"And House?"

"On his way. They had to extricate him from the car. I thought you'd want to be here."

Wilson sighed shakily, ran a hand through his hair once more and leaned heavily against the wall. Cameron quickly followed suit.

"How does he get into these messes?" He asked softly.

"I don't know." Cameron replied, eyes on the ground. "I don't know."

OOOO

He woke to the feeling of cold plastic against his face. Groaning, he raised a shaky hand and batted at it, uncomfortable.

"Leave that on, Dr. House." Someone said, gently grabbing his hand. "We're almost there."

He gritted his teeth against the pain, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His head was pounding and his chest was throbbing and his leg felt like it was being torn apart by a wild animal. He heard whimpering, and was almost surprised to realize that he himself was making those noises.

"W-Wilson." He gasped through the oxygen mask, searching desperately for his friend's face.

"We're still in the ambulance, Dr. House." The voice said calmly. "We'll be at the hospital soon."

"N-need…Wilson…" He whimpered painfully, tears unwittingly pooling in his eyes.

He needed to see his friend's face. He would never admit it, not while he was in his right mind, but just having Wilson around was a comfort to him. Wilson's steady confidence and calm demeanor put him at ease. He knew when to crack a joke, give his honest opinion, and provide support without saying a word. He needed him. He needed his best friend.

The paramedic looked down at him, confused, not able to translate his mumbled whimpers. The ambulance stopped, and he smiled comfortingly.

"We're here, Dr. House. We're here."

OOOO

Cuddy sighed, head in her hands, as Foreman performed the CT scan on her daughter. A million thoughts were running through her head, and she felt consistently on the verge of tears.

Of course, her first thought was of Rachel. She was thankful that her daughter seemed to have escaped serious injury, although she wouldn't be satisfied until every bit of her body had been checked and re-checked. Her heart hadn't stopped hammering in her chest since she had heard that Rachel was in the ER—and it wasn't looking like it was going to calm down anytime soon.

A bolt of maternal anger also shot through her, although it brought with it incredible guilt. A part of her, a small part of her, needed to know what had happened, needed to know if the accident had been House's fault. She couldn't stand the thought of her daughter being in pain and afraid—and if House was the cause, she wasn't sure what she would do.

Another, larger part of her felt extremely guilty for coercing House into picking up Rachel in the first place. Even if the accident had been his fault, it was also hers. She took him out of clinic, and pushed him until he caved. It was her fault that Rachel was hurt. It was her fault that he was hurt.

There was one more thought that flitted through her brain, but she tried desperately to ignore it. The thought of House, injured, made her sick to her stomach. Too many times had she seen him on the brink of death. Too many times had she sat at his bedside, waiting to see whether or not he would wake. She wasn't sure she could handle it. She wasn't sure her heart could handle it.

"CT looks good." Foreman said, interrupting her unwelcome thoughts.

"I want a repeat CT in two hours." She said, rubbing her eyes gently. "And an MRI."

OOOO

The moment the ambulance doors opened, everything became chaotic. A flurry of activity surrounded him, as multiple people lifted the gurney out of the ambulance and rushed towards the ER doors. He could hear multiple voices, sometimes distinguishable and sometimes blurred together into one loud buzz. Bright lights assaulted him, and he groaned in pain, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

He felt claustrophobic enclosed by that many people. Pain radiated through his body, and suddenly he was gasping for air once more. He felt like he was suffocating.

"Can't…breathe…" He gasped through the mask, but his voice was too weak and the mask was muffling his voice. He could feel his body breaking into a cold sweat, as he desperately clawed at the oxygen mask. "Wilson!"

A familiar hand grabbed his, pulling it away from the mask. The hand didn't let go, gripping his tightly. It was warm and steady. He knew that hand.

"House, try to relax. Your O2 stats are low. You need to leave the mask on."

He felt someone cutting his jeans off, and his whole body tensed when they reached his right thigh. Soon all concern for his thigh was forgotten as someone probed his chest. He cried out in pain, sweat dripping off his forehead. Without regard to his other injuries he arched his back, trying in vain to escape the torturous examination.

"House, hold still." A female voice this time. "Oh, god. Try to keep him still. Somebody clear an OR—and page Dr. Chase."

Chest heaving, his eyes darted frantically around the room, everything a blur of color and light. Suddenly a face was above him. A familiar face. Concerned brown eyes stared straight into his blue ones, and the hand gave his a squeeze.

"House. House, look at me. Look at me."

Gasping, he tried to obey, focusing on Wilson's face.

"Good. Good. Now you have to stay still. Your side is pretty smashed up, and Cameron needs to examine it. If you move around too much you might make things worse."

He squeezed his eyes shut again, and tried to control his body. He gripped the hand tightly, body tense as Cameron performed the exam. He cried out once but kept his body still, trying to focus on the grip of the hand instead of the blinding pain. Fingers touched his forehead gently, and then adjusted his oxygen mask.

"House?" He opened his eyes wearily. Cameron's blonde head bobbed above him. "House, we have to put you out now. We need to take you up to surgery."

A bolt of pain shot through his right leg. He hated being helpless—the whole situation was eerily similar to the infarction, and it terrified him. Panicking, he reached for the mask with his unoccupied hand, and yanked it off.

"Wilson!" He gasped, eyes wide.

"Keep the mask on, House." Wilson said firmly, reaching for the mask.

"Leg…don't…my leg…"

Wilson frowned slightly, and replaced the mask over his mouth. He held it there, making sure that House left it on.

"House, listen to me. You're gonna be fine. Your leg will be fine." He didn't look convinced. "Trust me."

A few seconds later the drugs were flowing through his system, and he drifted into unconsciousness, leaving his body in others' hands. Wilson didn't let go of House's hand until Cameron announced they were on their way to the OR. Reluctantly, he released his friend and followed him to surgery.

**Reviews are delightful!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Cameron?" Chase asked, meeting the group outside of the OR. "What have you got?"

"It's House." She said simply, as they pushed his bed into a small preparation room. Nurses swarmed around him, preparing his body for surgery. "Collapsed lung, three broken ribs, and he's bleeding internally."

"What happened?" He asked, brow knit in concern.

"Car accident. He would want you there for the surgery. He hates reading OR notes." She said sadly.

"Of course." Chase replied, rolling his eyes. "Of course. I'll go scrub in."

"I'm scrubbing in too." Wilson added, tearing himself from House's side.

"Uh, no." Chase said, raising a hand in protest. "You're too close to him. It's not a good idea."

"And you're not?" Wilson said angrily. "You've known him for 10 years!"

"And you've known him for 20." Chase said calmly. "You're his best friend. You can't scrub in."

Wilson's shoulders sagged, and he glanced wearily over his shoulder at House.

"I need to be there. I wasn't there for the infarction. I wasn't there for the shooting. I need to be there."

"I'll take care of him." Said Chase, putting a steady hand on Wilson's shoulder. "We've got everything under control."

OOOO

Officially, Cameron had been off-duty for half an hour. But in the ten minutes since she had left House in Chase's capable hands, she had been lingering in the hall, feeling lost.

Where was she supposed to go? She couldn't go home—not when House's life was up in the air, not when emotions were running so high. She couldn't scrub in—it had taken all of her willpower to treat House in the ER while staying relatively emotionally detached. She thought briefly of going to sit with Wilson in the waiting room, but quickly dismissed that idea. She felt out of place there—she cared about House as a person, and admired his skills as a doctor, but Wilson was FAMILY. She had Chase and her parents and her brother and her friends, but Wilson had House, and House had Wilson. She had long ago let go of the idea that she held one of those coveted places in House's heart.

Frowning anxiously, she allowed her mind to wander to Rachel. She remembered the girl's frightened cries, and her watery brown eyes. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to walk down the hall to find out where Rachel was.

OOOO

Chase scrubbed at his fingers harshly, foaming yellow soap dripping into the sink. Every couple of seconds he would glance upwards and through the window at House's prone form. He had already been intubated, and the nurses were in the process of quickly draping and sterilizing his body. He took a deep breath, rinsed the soap from his hand, and began on the other.

He was all confidence. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could handle this. He was a good doctor, and years of working with House had taught him to expect the unexpected. He knew he wouldn't trust any other surgeon with this task. He had to do it. He had to save his former boss.

So why was his body so tense—his stomach hollow and aching? Seeing House in this state reminded him of the shooting. The same panic, anger, and adrenaline were dancing at the edge of his thoughts. He had frozen then—fear and anxiety rendering him near useless. This time…this time would be different. This time he was prepared.

"Dr. Chase? Ready when you are."

He took a deep breath.

OOOO

"Hi." Cameron said softly, weary smile playing on her lips.

Cuddy looked up, face somber, upon Cameron's entrance into the room. Her hair was mussed—dark strands curling around her face.

"Hi." She said, unfurling herself from the visitor's chair next to her daughter's bed. She glanced over at the sleeping girl, and smiled sadly. "She fell asleep right after the CT. Too much excitement."

"How's she doing?" Cameron asked, stepping further into the room.

"CT was clear. We're in line for the MRI."

Cameron nodded, eyes fixed on Rachel's little face. She looked so peaceful—cheeks rosy, hair lovingly pushed back from her face. She shuddered to think how differently the situation could have turned out. If the car had hit Rachel's side instead of House's, she was almost sure the little girl wouldn't have survived. She briefly wondered if Cuddy had thought of this—but judging by the look on the older woman's face, she had been thinking about it a lot.

"How's House?" She asked hesitantly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

"In surgery. Chase is with him."

Cuddy sighed, but in relief or worry Cameron couldn't tell. She absentmindedly bit her lower lip, before looking up and meeting Cameron's eyes with surprising intensity.

"How bad is it?"

"It's…not good." She said gently, concerned about her phrasing. "There was some pretty heavy damage done to his left side. His…lung collapsed, and there were internal injuries."

Cuddy closed her eyes, and buried her face in her hands.

"But he was conscious." Cameron said, searching desperately for something encouraging to say. "And breathing on his own, for the most part. And Chase is the best. House trusts him…we should too."

"Sure." Cuddy said dejectedly, staring at her daughter. "Where's Wilson?"

"The waiting room." She replied. "Chase wouldn't let him scrub in."

Cameron could almost physically feel the waves of anxiety radiating from Cuddy. One stocking-clad foot tapped against the linoleum, and her entire body was clenched and tense.

"You should go check on Wilson. I'm sure he'd love to see you."

"I can't." She said shakily. "I can't leave Rachel."

"I'll stay with her. I'll stay with her and take her to her MRI. She'll be fine."

Cuddy hesitated, before standing and kissing her daughter gently on the forehead.

"Call me if anything happens. Call me if nothing happens. Call me, Dr. Cameron."

"Of course." Cameron nodded emphatically. "Oh, and Dr. Cuddy? Here."

She toed off her sensible brown shoes, and pushed them towards Cuddy.

OOOO

"Suction." Chase called, focused intently on the injuries before him.

House's chest cavity was a mess—three of his ribs were badly broken, and the impact of the accident had caused some serious organ damage. There was so much blood that it was a struggle to identify the source.

"You couldn't have made this easy on me, could you?" He whispered, guiding the suction device to the correct area. With skilled and steady hands, he cleared his field of vision and spotted a bleed. One of House's ribs had torn his spleen badly, spilling blood into his chest cavity.

"Dr. Chase."

He thought of this as a puzzle. The blood in the chest cavity was a problem, potentially coming from dozens of different sources. It was a delicate balance, to repair one source of bleeding while simultaneously searching for other causes. He imagined that the way he feels while performing surgery must be the way House feels when conducting a diagnostic. Here are the symptoms, here are the clues, we need to find the source of the problem…

"Dr. Chase!" The nurse's urgent voice broke his chain of thought, and he only then heard the alarm sounding in the background. "BP's dropping. Fast."

"Damn." He muttered, hands flying. "He's going into hypovolemic shock. Hang another unit."

He forced the alarm to fade into the background, and focused on the task at hand. The splenic tear was bad—really bad. And while the spleen was gushing, he didn't have time to search for any other sources of bleeding.

"Clamp." He said, a hint of urgency in his voice. "This spleen needs to come out. Now."

OOOO

"How's Rachel?" Wilson asked wearily, the moment he saw Cuddy walk into the waiting room. "Is she okay?"

"CT was clear." She answered, sinking into a chair. "She's in line for an MRI."

"Any other injuries?"

"Look like it's just whiplash."

"Thank God." Wilson said, sighing in relief. "It could have been so much worse."

"What about House?" Cuddy asked tentatively. "Cameron said it was pretty…serious."

"Yeah." Wilson said, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. He took a moment to think about his answer, not wanting to worry Cuddy any more than absolutely necessary. "He's pretty beat up."

"That's it?" She said, staring straight into his worried brown eyes. "That's all you're going to tell me?"

"Sorry." He said, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Broken ribs. Collapsed lung, but they managed to relieve the pressure in the field. He was bleeding…internally."

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders slumped noticeably.

"Oh God…" She whispered. "How did this happen?"

Wilson stared at the floor and tried to calm his racing heart. He wanted desperately to scrub in, watch over his friend, but he knew Chase was right. It was a bad idea. The only thing to do now was wait.

**A review a day keeps writer's block away.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Mommy?"

"Hi sweetheart." Cameron said with a forced smile. "Your Mommy went to go talk to Uncle Wilson for a little while. I told her I would love to sit with you."

Rachel blinked sleepily, and rubbed her little eyes.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Our car got crashed." She said softly, glancing around the room. "Where's Uncle House?"

Cameron hesitated, searching for an acceptable answer. She smiled warmly at Rachel, grabbed one of her hands and gave it a squeeze.

"Uncle House got a couple of owies from the accident that we need to fix."

"Like when I crashed my bike." Rachel said knowingly.

"Kind of like that." Cameron said, nodding.

"Aunt Cameron?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Will you give him a Hello Kitty band-aid? Just like you gave me?"

OOOO

"Chase?" Foreman asked, stepping into the OR, mouth covered with a mask. Chase was standing next to House's prone form, fingers shiny red with blood. His hands were flying, brow knitted in concern. "I thought I'd give Wilson and Cuddy an update. How—"

"Spleen's out." Chase interrupted, depositing the organ in a waiting metal receptacle. Immediately he was back inside, working to control the bleeding.

"Splenectomy?" Foreman asked. "How bad…?"

"Foreman, shut up." Chase said, lifting his eyes to meet his colleague's across the OR. "A splenectomy and he's still bleeding. Obviously not good. So either shut up or scrub in."

Foreman closed his eyes briefly and sighed. He didn't realize it was this bad. His heart rate quickened despite himself at the sight before him. He thought of Wilson and Cuddy sitting dejectedly in the waiting room, and thought briefly of going to give them the update. But he really didn't want to have to be the person to bring them this news.

He took a deep breath, and raised his chin in determination.

"I'll go scrub in."

OOOO

"This is my fault." Cuddy whispered, burying her face into her shaking hands. She stared down at Cameron's shoes morosely, images of House and Rachel flashing through her mind. As if deliberately choosing to torture her, her overworked brain kept conjuring up imagined images of the crash. She could almost hear the sound of twisting metal, her daughter's cries, House's moans of pain…Shuddering, she shook her head.

"What?" Wilson asked from his seat across from her in the waiting room, raising his eyes to look at her. He looked disheveled—much different than his normal, clean-cut persona. His tie was loose around his neck, the first couple of buttons of his dress shirt undone. His lab coat had been abandoned ages ago.

"It's my fault." She repeated, waving a hand absently around the waiting room. "All of this."

"That's funny. I thought you were in the board meeting with me." Wilson said, in a half-hearted attempt at sarcasm.

"I made him go pick up Rachel. He didn't want to. It was the last thing he wanted to do."

"Don't be ridiculous. This isn't your fault."

"I BRIBED him, Wilson."

"Oh, well in that case…" Wilson rolled his eyes.

Cuddy sniffled, eyes welling up. In seconds tears were streaming down her face, falling onto her wrinkled pencil skirt. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Startled, Wilson cursed himself for his insensitivity. Twenty years of friendship with House had rendered him useless in regulating his sarcasm. Sighing, he relocated next to Cuddy and wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Hey…hey…I didn't mean it." He said gently, pulling her closer to him. "I'm sorry, I…I spend too much time with House."

"I can't do this." Cuddy sobbed, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks.

"Can't do what?"

"I can't…what if he dies? What…what will we do?"

"He's not going to die." Wilson said firmly. "He's way too stubborn to die. He'll be up and annoying the hell out of us sooner then we'd like."

"They could have died, Wilson. Both of them. I don't…I don't know what I would have done…"

Caught up in his own thoughts, Wilson didn't reply. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Cuddy's head resting on Wilson's shoulder, his arm around her.

"I love him, Wilson." She whispered.

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, me too."

OOOO

Chase barely noticed when Foreman arrived at his side, freshly scrubbed in. He was so focused on his task that the only thing in the room was the chest cavity in front of him. It wasn't even House's chest cavity, really. With a great deal of effort, and as the situation intensified, he had allowed himself to depersonalize the patient. With most of House's body draped and sterilized, it was a little easier to pretend it wasn't really him.

Blood was everywhere. His hands were slick with it, and the suction could barely whisk it away before being replaced. He had lost track of how many units of blood he had ordered—he imagined it was more than anyone would have liked. Carefully, centimeter by centimeter, he scoured the chest cavity—the bleeding had to be coming from somewhere…the spleen was gone, so it couldn't be that…

"Chase?"

"There." He said triumphantly, eyes bright. "There. There's the bleed."

"Where?" Foreman asked, shifting to get a closer look.

"Kidney." Chase answered, already probing the organ to check the extent of the damage. The initial rush of having found the source of the bleeding was quickly dwindling—kidney damage was serious for anyone, but for House…with his Vicodin use, the loss of a kidney could be potentially devastating.

"Can it be saved?" Foreman asked, suctioning away the excess blood.

Chase frowned under his mask.

"I…don't know."

OOOO

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy kept her eyes closed and sighed. She really didn't feel like being bothered with anything work-related right now. But when she felt Wilson tense, her eyes shot open and she sat up. In front of her stood two uniformed police officers. Her heart thudded in her chest. She knew Rachel and House were being taken care of, but still the sight of the officers caught her off guard.

"Sorry to bother you, Dr. Cuddy. I'm Officer Lewiston, and this is my partner Officer Marquez. Dr…Cameron told us that we would find you here."

Cuddy reached out shakily from her seat and shook each man's hand.

"I'm James Wilson." Wilson said uncomfortably, removing his arm from around Cuddy's shoulder. "Family friend."

Officer Lewiston nodded skeptically, and shook his hand.

"Pleasure." He said. "Dr. Cuddy, we were told that your daughter was involved in the accident this afternoon?"

"Yes." Cuddy said shortly.

"We're very sorry." Officer Marquez added, shifting uncomfortably. "Will she be okay?"

"She should be, yes."

"Good to hear." Lewiston said. "I'm sorry to bother you right now, but we're going to need to collect some information from you."

"Of course…I…of course…"

"Do you know, by chance, if Dr. House is insured?"

Cuddy stared up at him, blank-faced, mouth gaping. She could not, under any circumstances, think of insurance right now. Not when he was still in surgery. Not when she wasn't sure if he would make it.

"He does." Wilson said for her. "I can get you the information as soon as—"

"What happened?" Cuddy interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"What happened? What caused the accident?"

"Uh…the accident is still under investigation. I can't really give you solid answers as of yet, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy stood, shrugging off Wilson's light grip on her arm. She gazed up into the officer's eyes defiantly, chin jutting out, her face hard and professional.

"I'll settle for answers that aren't completely solid, Officer Lewiston."

Slightly unnerved, Officer Lewiston frowned.

"Dr. Cuddy, I understand you're upset, but—"

"My daughter was involved, Officer. I deserve to know what it is that happened."

"There were two cars involved." Officer Marquez said sympathetically, stepping out from behind his partner. "The car driven by Dr. House, and a silver PT Cruiser heading in the opposite direction. According to witnesses, the PT Cruiser swerved into the left lane unexpectedly."

"The PT Cruiser?" Cuddy gasped, face pale. "How…?"

"Initial report indicates the driver may have been intoxicated. But nothing has been confirmed as of yet."

"Drunk?" Cuddy said softly, collapsing back onto her seat. "It…it wasn't his fault."

Wilson snaked his arm around Cuddy once more, and shot the officers a weary look of annoyance.

"Can't this wait?"

"Wilson, Cuddy." Suddenly Chase and Foreman were standing in front of them. The officers faded into the background. Trembling, Cuddy glanced into each of their eyes, searching for answers. She took a deep breath.

"How is he?"

**Please donate a review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Wilson's heart was racing, and he quickly broke out into a cold sweat. He had been waiting for so long, waiting for any kind of update, he thought he was ready for anything. He KNEW he was ready for anything. So why was he panicking?

Chase's eyes…they had exactly the same saddened look that Stacy's did when she told him about the infarction. The same wide-eyed uneasiness that Cuddy's had when she told him about House being shot. Wilson held his breath and waited.

"He's alive." Chase said bluntly. Wilson exhaled in relief, lowering his head to rest on shaking hands. Face turned to the ground, he blinked away lingering tears. Beside him he could hear Cuddy crying softly. "We managed to stop the internal bleeding, but we had to remove his spleen. And…his kidney was damaged pretty badly…"

Hearing this, Wilson's head shot up, and he quickly met Chase's eyes.

"Did…did you save it?"

Chase nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

"Yes, but there's a chance he could still lose it."

"Where is he?" Wilson asked, standing.

"I'll take you to him."

Wilson followed House's former fellows, but stopped when he noticed Cuddy wasn't beside him. Frowning, he turned around and saw her still slumped in her chair, tears streaming down her face.

"Aren't you coming?" He asked, taking a step towards her.

"No." She said quickly, swiping at the tears on her face and standing hastily. "No, I have to get back to Rachel."

"Rachel's fine, Cameron's with her. And you've been waiting all of this time."

"My daughter needs me. You look after House."

She shot him one guilty glance and disappeared down the hall.

OOOO

Cuddy slipped into Rachel's room, throwing her daughter a forced smile.

"I'm back." She said succinctly, slipping Cameron's shoes off of her feet and perching herself on the edge of the bed. She could feel Cameron's concerned gaze on her, and she was acutely aware that she probably looked a little bit crazed. Her eyes were red, make-up smeared, hair mussed…but none of that mattered. Her daughter was alive. House was alive.

But it was still her fault.

"Mommy, I went to the MR…MR…"

"The MRI?" Cuddy finished, throwing Cameron an angry glare. "You were supposed to keep me updated! How did it go?"

"We just got back." Cameron said softly, frowning. "I was about to page you. Everything looks good."

"Good. That's good." She said, smiling down at her daughter. One shaking hand brushed the little girl's golden locks off of her forehead. She stared into Rachel's big brown eyes, and tried to force the rest of the world to fade away. She needed everything to just fade away, leave her alone…

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy knew Cameron wanted to know how House was, how his surgery went. But she couldn't…she couldn't talk about it. Not now.

"Thank you for staying with Rachel." She said briskly, eyes never leaving her daughter. "You can leave now, Dr. Cameron."

She heard Cameron stand, and a moment later the door clicked shut.

"Mommy, it took pictures of my brain! It was really loud…"

Cuddy gave her daughter's hand a squeeze, and sank into the newly vacated chair. She focused on Rachel's words, and tried to make the rest of the world fade away.

OOOO

The world was hazy and dark…he could hear muffled sounds, blurring together into a dull buzz. He felt…numb. He couldn't feel…

Oh God. His legs. He couldn't feel his legs.

House's eyes shot open. He gasped, panicked, and choked frantically. Something was in his throat. He couldn't breathe. He tried to clear his airway, but his arms felt heavy and he couldn't find the strength to move them. Alarms were sounding, that much he was aware of, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Eyes wide with fear, he prepared himself for suffocation.

Suddenly he felt someone gripping his hand. A gentle hand was on his forehead, even as he bucked weakly, struggling for air.

"House! House! Listen to me."

His eyes darted around in a panic, until they met Wilson's familiar ones.

"You have to calm down, okay? You're intubated—we'll take the tube out in a minute, but you have to get your breathing under control first. Don't fight the respirator."

Logically, House understood this process. Logically, it shouldn't be a problem. But for some reason, logic wasn't really working out for him right now. He gasped, chest heaving, black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"House!" Wilson yelled, squeezing his hand even harder. Suddenly Wilson's face was directly in front of his own. They were almost nose-to-nose. "Breathe, House. Breathe. Breathe."

He focused on Wilson's face. On his pathetically concerned eyes. On his monstrous eyebrows. His breathing slowed. The black spots dissipated. Wilson gripped his hand harder.

"Good. Just breathe. Good."

Wilson's hair was a mess. His tie was loose. House wondered, between forced respirator breaths, how long he had been out.

"Okay, let's get that tube out." Wilson said, releasing House's hand and raising it. It was visibly shaking. Wilson's face was pale. House tried to frown, but with the respirator it was easier said than done.

"Uh, Wilson?" An Australian accent. Chase. "Maybe you better let me do that."

House rolled his eyes, impatient. He could feel his heart starting to race in anticipation. He needed the tube out. He needed to figure out what was wrong with his legs. He needed to make sure Wilson was okay. He needed somebody to DO something.

"Okay, House. You know the drill." A moment later the tube was out. He took a shaky breath and coughed. He could breathe.

"What…my legs…"

OOOO

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Did Uncle House get his owies fixed?"

Cuddy paled, eyes filling with tears. She bit her lip, trying her best not to cry. She couldn't believe she had any tears left in her.

"Yes." She said softly, picking up the remote and flipping on cartoons for her daughter. "He did, sweetie. Look—Spongebob is on."

Her daughter smiled happily. Cuddy sank further into her chair, and wallowed quietly in her own guilt.

OOOO

"What about your legs?" Chase asked.

"Can't move them…"

Chase frowned, moving quickly to the foot of the bed. He quickly exposed House's feet and prodded them with his fingers.

"Can you feel this?"

"Yeah." House rasped, relieved.

"House, your legs are fine." Chase said firmly, looking down in concern at his former boss. "You were under pretty heavy anesthesia, that's why you can't move them."

House looked skeptical.

"They're fine." Said Chase, rolling his eyes. "I didn't screw up."

"Didn't I…fire you?"

Chase sighed, shoving an oxygen mask onto House's face. The initial ecstatic rush of House waking up was quickly dissipating.

"Do you remember what happened?" Wilson asked, fidgeting anxiously in the chair.

Chase watched House's face intently, looking for any sign of confusion. He knew House was a master of deception, who was never inclined to be truthful about his health. This wouldn't be the first time House had lied about a brain condition.

"Car accident. Quit staring at me."

"I'm worried. This is me being worried." Chase replied.

"You're looking more and more like Cameron every day. How's the kid?"

"Rachel?"

"Is there another kid I don't know about?"

House groaned, unsteady hand drifting to his side.

"Don't touch. She's fine, just whiplash."

Chase thought he might have heard a small sigh of relief, but he wouldn't bet money on it. House squeezed his eyes shut, body tense with pain.

"Feels like you tore apart my chest with one of Cuddy's stilettos." He gasped, rapid breath fogging up the oxygen mask.

Chase nodded to Wilson, giving him the okay to up House's morphine. The man was trembling in pain, but trying hard to maintain normalcy. Chase had seen this before—more times then he'd like to remember. More than a few times, when his leg had been really bad, Chase had walked in on House in a state like this. Most of the time House forced him out, hurling obscenities and insults. One time, when he could barely stifle cries of pain, Chase had refused to leave. He'd sat behind House's desk, watching nervously as the older man writhed in pain on the recliner. Knowing any comfort he tried to provide would be quickly shot down, he settled on maintaining a steady stream of useless chatter. He'd chatted about everything and nothing for 10 minutes, until House was coherent enough to tell him to shut up. A week later House fired him.

"Three of your ribs were broken." Chase said, knowing House would want specifics. "You punctured your lung, but the pressure was relieved in the field."

House groaned. Chase smirked.

"The college dropouts saved your life. You owe them one."

"It's their job." House mumbled, his usual snark dulled by pain.

"There was some internal bleeding." Chase continued, all traces of his smirk gone. "We had to remove your spleen, and your left kidney was damaged."

House sighed, and closed his eyes tiredly.

"How bad?"

"Well, it's still there." Chase said with a mirroring sigh. "But we'll be watching you closely for indications of kidney failure."

House took a few deep breaths, keeping his eyes shut. Chase turned to Wilson, and saw the oncologist's head in his hands. Both men looked exhausted.

"You should get some rest."

Tossing one more anxious glance at House, he made his way to the door. Silently, he vowed not to stray too far from House's room.

**Review: A fantastic (and free) gift during this rough economic time.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Hey." Cameron said, catching Chase in the hall. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion, and when he turned towards her, she could see that his face was drawn and pale. "How is he? How did it go?"

"I had to remove his spleen. Kidney might follow."

"But he's alive."

"Yeah. He's alive." He sounded…tired. Defeated.

Frowning, Cameron reached a hand up to his face and touched his cheek softly. Usually they were both diametrically opposed to public displays of affection (most likely stemming from the beginning of their relationship, when House would observe a meaningful glance and use it to torture them for the rest of the week), but her gesture was spontaneous. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Hey." She said softly, brow furrowed in concern. "Hey, he's okay. You did good. You saved him."

Chase snorted, running a hand through his hair.

"For now."

OOOO

"You look like crap." House croaked, turning his head tiredly towards Wilson. He wasn't lying—his friend really did look like crap. He could barely count the number of times on one hand that he had woken to find Wilson sitting next to his bed. And he always looked worse for the wear, meticulously blow-dried hair mussed, dry-cleaned suits wrinkled and dirty. He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly pushed aside as his side began to throb with greater fury.

"Well sitting next to your innate beauty, anyone would look like crap." Wilson said sarcastically.

"You look like Britney Spears on a Sunday morning."

"Well at least I'm wearing underwear."

"You stink."

"Your catheter was leaking earlier. Not my fault."

House sighed, and averted his eyes to the ceiling.

"You should go home." He said softly, staring at the ceiling tiles.

Wilson rolled his eyes so hard House could almost hear them banging around his head.

"It's okay. I'm TIVOing The Real World."

OOOO

"Hey." Foreman said, slipping into Rachel's room. Cuddy looked up at him wearily. Her face was drawn and pale, and she was curled into the visitor's chair in a way he couldn't even begin to imitate. Next to her, Rachel was sleeping peacefully. A cartoon character laughed manically in the background. "Time for Rachel's neuro check."

"Let her sleep for a while longer. Her last two neuro checks were fine."

Foreman frowned slightly. Cuddy looked…defeated. It wasn't a look he was used to seeing on the dean of medicine.

"You sure?"

"She's had a long day. It can wait another hour."

"I can…sit with her, if you want. House is awake." He offered uncomfortably.

In a second Cuddy had uncurled herself from the chair, and slid a hand under her daughter's little one. Her dark hair slid out from behind her ear, obscuring her face. Foreman's frown deepened.

"I'm not leaving Rachel. She needs me."

"She's asleep." Foreman said bluntly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How long are you planning on hiding in here?"

"I'm not hiding." Cuddy said defensively, glaring at him angrily. "My daughter is in a hospital bed. This is where I belong."

"You care about him. He's going to wonder where you are."

For a moment the two were silent, Cuddy gazing down at her sleeping daughter and Foreman staring down at Cuddy.

"How is he?" Cuddy asked softly.

Foreman rolled his eyes, and turned towards the door.

"Go see for yourself."

OOOO

"What aren't you telling me?"

Wilson looked up, confused, from his seat next to House. His friend was pale, his eyes heavy-lidded and red. They had recently replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula—House's O2 stats seemed to holding their own, but that didn't stop Wilson from glancing nervously at them every few minutes.

"About what?" He asked, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

"About the kid. About Rachel."

"How much morphine are you on?" Said Wilson, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Chase already told you she was fine. Whiplash."

"There's something else."

"House, if there was something else, I'm sure we would have heard."

House was silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating Wilson's words. The fingers of his right hand were drumming on the bed beside him.

"If the kid was fine, Cuddy would be in here choking me to death with my own catheter."

Wilson sighed. House wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sure she…feels like she needs to stay with Rachel." He said softly. He tried, in vain, to sound like he believed it, but he knew House would see right through him. House already knew. He knew Rachel was fine, and he knew Cuddy was avoiding him. House just wanted to see what he would say.

"She has an entire hospital full of minions who would give their left kidney for the chance to sit with their boss' kid."

"What do you want me to say, House?"

He drummed his fingers faster.

"She's an idiot." He said weakly.

"Rachel?"

"Okay…now you're the idiot."

Wilson rolled his eyes, glancing at House's O2 monitor. Using as much stealth as he possessed, which admittedly wasn't much, he upped House's O2.

"I'm fine." House said, glaring at Wilson. "She feels guilty."

"You're not _fine_. You have three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, no spleen, and a kidney that may or may not heal. You're not fine." Annoyed, he stilled House's fingers with his own hand. "Think maybe that's why she feels guilty?"

"She's an idiot." House said, grimacing. He yanked his right hand out from under Wilson's, and let it hover near his injured side.

Wilson frowned, noticing a glint of what appeared to be sadness in his friend's eyes. His face showed pain, that much was obvious. And a hint of his usual stubbornness. But…there was also sadness. Wilson's frown deepened.

House missed Cuddy.

OOOO

"Somebody needs to talk to Cuddy." Foreman said, finding Chase and Cameron seated down the hall from House's room, coffee cups in hand.

"Yeah…" Chase said sarcastically. "I'm a little bit busy trying to keep House alive."

Brushing off Chase's words, Foreman quickly trained his eyes on Cameron. Cameron would talk to Cuddy. Cameron was physically incapable of seeing someone in emotional distress and NOT acting.

"She doesn't want to talk to me." Cameron said. "She kicked me out of Rachel's room."

"C'mon Cameron, House pushed you away a thousand times and you still kept trying." Foreman said, leaning on the wall across from the couple.

"Is that supposed to convince me to talk to Cuddy?" Cameron replied angrily.

"What's wrong with her?" Chase asked, fiddling with his pager morosely.

"She won't leave Rachel's room. She's hiding from House."

"Not exactly hard to do. He can't really go looking for her."

"Fine!" Foreman said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Never mind, forget I ever said anything."

"I'll do it." Cameron said with a sigh.

"You will?" The two men said simultaneously.

"House needs her there."

OOOO

House was exhausted. According to the clock on the wall, he had been asleep for nearly an hour, yet he felt even more tired then he did before he closed his eyes. He blinked slowly a couple of times, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wilson asleep slumped in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted back in a way that had to be uncomfortable. He was breathing deeply in sleep—making those strange snore-like noises that he recognized immediately from weeks of past co-habitation.

He thought about going back to sleep, but quickly dismissed the idea. His body might be tired, but his brain wouldn't let him sleep. Something…something was off, something wasn't quite right. He just had to figure out what that something was. He needed to think.

With a soft sigh, he reached for the TV remote on the bedside table. His arm felt heavy and weak, like he had just finished 100 push-ups. With effort, he managed to grasp the remote, only to have it fall from his hand before he could press the power button. It tumbled to the floor and crashed onto the linoleum, batteries rolling along the floor. With a start Wilson awoke, nearly jumping from the chair. He groaned, one hand tiredly rubbing his undoubtedly sore neck.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

House felt like rolling his eyes, but settled on merely _thinking_ about rolling his eyes. The actual act seemed like way too much effort.

"I dropped the remote." He said weakly.

Wilson started to bend over to pick up the remote and batteries, but paused, staring worriedly at him. He hated that look. It was almost universally a bad sign.

"Generalized weakness?"

"No." He said, heavy-lidded eyes doing their best to glare at Wilson. "Generalized clumsiness due to massive amounts of highly potent drugs."

"You could be anemic." Wilson said, frowning. "You look really tired."

"Can't sleep with you snoring right next to me." He mumbled. TV was a bad idea. He should have just gone back to bed.

"House. Anemia, weakness, fatigue…your kidney could be failing." Wilson's hand was rubbing his neck again, but House knew better than to think it was because it was sore. It was one of Wilson's nervous ticks, and he knew his friend would never leave him alone now.

"Or I could be recovering from making really good friends with my car door."

"I'm testing your BUN and creatinine." Wilson said resolutely.

"You're an idiot." He said, as Wilson left the room for supplies. But as he lay there, body heavy and tired, he started to think that maybe Wilson wasn't so much of an idiot after all.

**Review, please, if you like what you read. Or if you hate what you read. Either one.**

**[WARNING: Shameless self-promotion below. You are perfectly entitled to avert your eyes.]**

**If you have some extra time, you could always check out my profile. I have a few more stories that I'd love to get some feedback on. Also, if you like the genre of this story, I would highly suggest checking out my favorite stories list. There are a lot of awesome House stories there, written by some very talented authors.**


End file.
